Forget Me Not
by TingedAutumn
Summary: In another world, this should have worked. Here and now, all she has left is a broken heart.
1. Prologue

He's the Avatar, the most powerful being on this planet, the bridge between spirits and human souls. And right now, she could happily kill him.

She finds herself wishing that he had cheated on her. That they were taking different paths, had different interests. That their separation came as a relief, a balm, a necessary conclusion to an unpleasant situation. That in the hours and days that follow his absence, her heart won't hurt and his disappearance won't sting.

Except.

It.

Does.

They used to think that there was nothing in heaven or on earth that could separate them. No force, no angry spirit, no vengeful Bender could destroy the bond that is so strong and so steady between them. They never have to think as one or act as one soul in two bodies: they are different people, and different hearts, but they work together and they _know_ each other, and they love each other.

And shouldn't that be enough?

Katara is not the girl to lock herself in her room and cry, and she's not the sort to give way to tears without action. She always has a plan, a goal, a destination, and however much it hurts to get there, she will follow it to the letter, because hopelessness is worse than anything. She won't give into desperation. She won't.

He left without saying goodbye, she let him go with him believing that she didn't love him, and tonight, as she watches the moon sink into the dark and wonders where he is, she wonders if he believed her.

She promises herself that no matter how long it's been, no matter how much he's gone through, she will never run into his arms again, never hold him in her arms and refuse to let go.

Never again.


	2. Dissension

**A/N:** Wow, you guys really think Aang screwed up, huh? But thanks so much for all the feedback and follows. I'm a bit nervous about doing a multi-chapter thing, so any advice or critique would be hugely appreciated! Hope you all enjoy the update! _~TA_

* * *

_**S**_he doesn't quite remember all the snow. It stretches for miles, blots out the land, obliterates the Earth, blankets the world until all she can see is diamonds in the ice, a brilliant, dazzling carpet of cold. She has grown up in this blizzard, spent her entire childhood trudging through snow and breaking through ice, but it feels different, now.

"You've seen the entire world!" Gran Gran exclaims, when Katara voices this thought over dinner one night. "What'd you expect when you compare all that to all this?"

Although she doesn't like the implication that her homeland is a barren dump, Katara has to concede that her grandmother has a point. The world is big, vast, full of life and adventure. The South Pole ... lacks.

The restoration effort, at least, has done great things. Small huts and broken-down homes are transformed into strong houses; walls are erected, defensible positions are made. They are a Tribe that has survived the War by the skin of their teeth, and no one wants to be on the receiving end of some Bender's fury, ever again, so the South Pole is a fortress first, a home second. Pakku, blossoming under new purpose and regained love, has turned Katara's tiny village into something no one will want to trifle with, ever again.

There's a place for another Master Waterbender, of course, and Katara finally, truly understands what it means to be revered for your power. The younger children practically worship the ground she walks on, and the Benders of her Tribe speak to her with a kind of hushed awe, because she is the Waterbender who helped save the world. She is Master Katara, of the Southern Watertribe, and she is not a woman to be trifled with.

Supposedly.

It takes two weeks for Katara to realize she's not entirely happy, being home. She's happy to see Gran Gran and Pakku, of course; being without a family for so long has made her more appreciative of them, now that they're here. She enjoys watching her home evolve from next to nothing, to truly great, and it gives her great pride, to be considered one of the World's Best Waterbenders. She is nothing if not grateful for her blessings, at least.

But she's lonely.

The nights are cold, and the winds are harsh, and she doesn't quite remember her bed being so vast. She wakes up, sprawled out, as if she is searching for something in her sleep, and she knows that it's the presence of a warm body that should have been at her side.

But Katara refuses to be one for regrets.

She has learned that she can't erase history, and she can't change the past. It's gone, it's never coming back, and she has to let her regrets and her mistakes go. Nevertheless, there are some parts of history that cling to her, as stubborn as a donkey-hound, and she has to walk with that weight on her shoulders, when she should be feeling weightless.

She doesn't tell Gran Gran these feelings, because her Grandmother likes to make her opinions known, and Katara isn't sure she wants to hear these particular musings. There are certain subjects Gran knows are taboo, and, loving granddaughter though Katara is, Kanna has no doubt that the claws will come out if needed.

So they live in companionable, if tense, quarters, and they pretend that this was the goal all along: that Katara was going to come back after the War, that her plan was always to return home to her family. Even if they know it's not true, they spend a marvelous amount of pretense on making it _seem_ that way.

The days pass, slow and steady, a simple routine established and followed, and Katara forces herself to teach her pupils the simple stances she has learned so long ago, to catch fish, to hang laundry, to ignore the destiny she thought was hers, so far away, and so, so angry with her.

(It's harder than she cares to admit, but Katara is a stubborn girl by nature).

The new moon brings a new flush of fish in the ocean, and, more importantly, it brings a ship. News is scattered at best in the South, and they make do with what they can, but fresh gossip is invaluable, and even Katara is a spendthrift for information. Today, she is doubly excited to hear the tidbits, because it arrives in the form of her father and older brother.

Hakoda looks a little older, in these days after the War; there are lines in his face that Katara doesn't remember being there before, and he favours his left leg when he walks, leading the Healer to suspect that her father won't divulge the extent of an injury. Sokka, however, is like the glowing sun: handsome, flushed with youth and vitality, and, of course, his irrepressible humor.

"You're getting old, Katara!" He exclaims when he sets eyes on her, and it's hard to believe they're not five and seven years old anymore, sticking out tongues and trying to trip each other up.

"If I'm getting old, what does that make you?" She shoots back, and Sokka laughs, slinging his arm around her shoulder and mussing her hair up, unchanged as always in his lightheartedness.

The men decline a feast, which means Katara gets her family to herself for a change. It's so reminiscent of old times, that it's hard to believe that Kya isn't at the head of the table, next to her husband, smiling that sweet smile of hers. Instead, Hakoda defers the seat of honour to his elders, and Pakku is the one to break the bread.

For a few minutes, there is silence. Then, _finally_, Kanna lowers her glass and sighs. "Alright, enough of this anticipation. I'm too old for it. Do you have news?"

Sokka grins at the undisguised impatience, and sets his own platter down, gnawing on a chicken-bat bone. "Lots, actually," he says importantly, nodding to his father. "Most of it from the Fire Nation."

"Is that pompous Firelord finally finished moping in his castle, or does he have another few weeks of winter to go?" Pakku inquires sarcastically, and the men snort with laughter.

"Zuko's been under a lot of pressure," Katara reproves, instantly on the defensive. "I've seen what he has to deal with, and I'd like to see any of _you_ handle the Restoration Movement better."

"That's the thing, sweetie," Hakoda interjects, lowering his fork. "There's talk that he's going to abandon the Restoration Movement."

"He ... what?"

"Not completely," Sokka assures. "You haven't been up there in a while ..." He trails off delicately, and Katara flushes, wondering if she can get away with freezing his hands to the table. "And you haven't seen what's happening. The Colonies are fighting the Restoration tooth and nail. Half of them are refusing to leave their homes, and the rest are taking to the streets on a looting rampage. The Earth Kingdom supports Zuko, but it's strained because of all the hits they're taking from Rebels. There's talk that the Fire Nation might have to use extreme force against their own people."

"What does the Earth King say?" Kanna asked, a tiny crease appearing between her eyebrows.

"Same as always - that he's dedicated to the restoration of Balance and equality. The problem is, it's not just Fire Nation that are rebelling. The Dai Le kept a lot of people quiet during their reign of terror, and now that they're gone ... well, things are politically unstable, there's no question about that."

"And what about the Avatar?" Pakku stabbed a sprout with his fork and pointed it to his newly-acquired son-in-law. "What does Aang plan to do about all this?"

Katara suddenly became very interested in the contents of her plate.

Hakoda shrugged, glancing at his daughter out of the corner of his eyes. "He's made it clear that he doesn't want to use violence, but things are escalating. There've been rumors that some particularly pissed - begging your pardon, Kanna - _upset_ Fire Nation soldiers have been planning to restore Ozai to his position of power. They claim Zuko is too soft."

Katara looked up, surprised. "That's not the popular opinion, though, is it?"

"No, not yet. But you have to understand what they're thinking, Katara. They've spent a hundred years occupying this land, and there is no power, in this world or the next, who will convince them it's not theirs. These people have benefitted from Ozai for years, and now, suddenly, Aang and Zuko are telling them that they have to abandon their homes, uproot their entire lives, for people most of the Fire Nation have been brought up to believe is ... well, dirt."

"The Fire Nation thinks everyone who isn't them is dirt," Kanna remarked dryly. "I don't see why they should start getting particular about it now."

"It's not just Fire Nation getting picky, though," Sokka interjected quickly. "There's a lot of people who are disenchanted with the Earth King, and how he let the Fire Nation literally bulldoze his people into hiding."

"That wasn't his fault, though!" Katara protested. "Long Feng hid the truth from him!"

"Yeah, but Katara, what kind of King holes himself so completely to himself that he doesn't notice the thousands of immigrants pouring into his city? It's a hundred years of war, and he didn't have a clue!" Sokka let his fork fall, with a clatter, to his plate. "It's left people feeling angry. They want someone to blame for all the injustices they've suffered, and they want to punish the people in charge. Zuko and the Earth King are just targets for their rage."

"So it's become obvious that the Restoration Movement isn't equipped to handle the problems," Hakoda finished calmly, bringing the tempers that had flared around the table back to a reasonable level. "And Aang is working on a solution. He's somewhere in Bai Sing Se right now, meeting with various Earth Kingdom leaders on how to handle the rioting. After that, we'll just have to wait and see."

Neither sibling said anything further after this dismissal, but Katara, who was seething with the news, knew that her brother would be waiting to bring her to a boil when he got the chance.

A chance that arrived shortly after dinner, when he had asked her to show him the battlements.

"It's sturdy!" He enthused, shaking the ledge. "Solid work! I - ... oops."

"Mostly sturdy," Katara dead-panned, a twist of her hand fixing the broken piece of defense.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, making a point to step away from the snow, arms raised. "I'll just ... stand over here."

He lowered his hands, head tilted up to view the empty night sky, eyes searching for the moon, although he knew as well as Katara did that it wasn't going to be out tonight. "Feels weird," he said after a moment, gaze still on the night sky. "Being home. Doesn't it?"

Katara chose not to expand on his question. "I've missed Gran Gran," she said lightly, looking out, not at the sky, but the deep, fathomless ocean. "I've missed my family. I'm glad to be back."

"No, I believe you. I just ... I dunno. I thought you'd be back in the Earth Kingdom. Where you're needed."

She bristled, like an indignant cat, and wrapped her coat more firmly around her. "I'm needed _here_," she replied, voice cool as frost. "They need a Waterbender, they need a teacher and a Healer, they need -"

"_Aang_ needs you." Sokka interrupted flatly, tearing his eyes from the hole in the night sky to fix Katara with his best older-brother look. "He has Toph, and you know I'd put my life in her hands, no questions asked ... but I don't like that he's out there, practically alone. We agreed, didn't we? He's our friend, and if he needs us, we go with him. Simple as that."

"Then you go," Katara said tartly. "And give Toph my love."

Sokka made a sound that Katara thought might have been disgust. "So you're willing to carry a little grudge in the way of Aang's safety? The whole world?"

"Don't put the whole world on my shoulders, Sokka. I've had to carry it before, and I didn't like it then."

"And how do you think Aang feels?!" In his anger, Sokka hadn't noticed his voice rising to a shout. "Alone, abandoned, fighting off angry people who'd rather see him dead, supposedly the Bringer of Peace, but no closer to peace than when we started fighting Ozai! You said you'd never turn your back on people who need you, but I guess scorned love doesn't count, right?"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Katara shot back, stung.

"No, I know exactly what I'm talking about!" With one sweep of his arm, Sokka pointed out the huts, the walls, the defenses which were being built and being strengthened, but just not enough. "You gave up the entire world for ice and snow, and the worst part is, I don't even know if you care anymore."

And then he was stomping down the battlements, and was gone.

* * *

"_**T**_winkletoes," Toph says one night, as they're sitting out on the balcony overlooking the Royal Gardens of the Earth Kingdom. "I want to be a mom."

The lyche juice that Aang has been gulping down gets caught in his throat, and he chokes, spitting and hacking for a good five minutes while Toph waits patiently. They've been travelling for weeks, exhausting Appa and themselves to get to Bai Sing Se, and they've arrived singed, sore, and very worried - for there was more dissent among the people than they had expected. Aang, who had hoped for things to heal after the War, has grown more quiet and drawn with every uprising he has to put down, and Toph, for her part, has let him brood in peace.

Finally, when his windpipe is sufficiently clear, Aang looks up, eyes streaming, and gasps, "I certainly hope you don't want _me_ to help you out."

As anticipated, the fist comes flying, and Aang rubs his arm in good-natured resignation, still attempting to get past the initial shock of Toph's announcement. It's a bad time for declarations like this in general, but Toph isn't the maternal kind. Aang has suspected for some time that Toph was born without those urgings. She probably thinks she can make a baby out of a rock.

"I've been thinking about it," Toph continues reasonably, twisting her meteorite bracelet in her hand, squishing it into a pulp, before shaping it again. "And I thought ... well, if there's anyone I know who is good with kids, it's you, Fairy Legs. Would you trust me with young 'uns?"

"You never care what people think," Aang observes, deeming it still unsafe to drink anything, and instead toying with the grapes on his plate. "But you were alright with those kids from your metalbending school, weren't you?"

Toph gives him a look, as if to suggest that this example is not the best, and Aang shrugs, a little uncomfortable.

"I dunno, Toph. You're kind, which is always important as a parent. You're firm, so your kid would have boundaries. You're funny, you're smart. You're brave. You're a great teacher. Who says you can't be a good parent?" Now that Aang has some time to warm up to the idea, he finds he likes it a lot more. Toph might not be a conventional parent, but she'd be a good one. A child of Toph Bei Fong might just be the perfect balance of Toph's more extreme emotions and actions. "You, uh, do know that you're going to need a guy for that part, though, right?"

Toph waves her hand in airy dismissal. "When I feel like it."

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, after that, listening to the cricket-ants chirp and the sparrow-flies whistle, and it's peaceful. It's hard to believe that the world is descending into chaos just outside these walls, but that's the purpose of Ba Sing Se, Aang supposes: keep the bad outside, keep the desirable inside. It bothered him back then, and it bothers him now, but it also benefits him, for the time being.

Back then, he muses, was a simpler time.

There are times - more times than Aang would like to admit to - where he finds himself thinking back to the past, when he was hunted and chased and so very, very frightened, and yet ... happy. Knowing his purpose and his goal, and what he needed to do, and having people to fight alongside with, so that even the bad days weren't so bad, and the good days were so very, very good.

It's different, now, and although Aang is considered a hero and the Greatest Avatar born, even though he has friends and supporters on every Nation, he realizes he's never really felt so alone.

He's grateful for Toph. They might not be alike, in terms of fighting, but the similarities are endless after that: patient, observant, no true family to speak of, lost souls who have found their own way. And even through their differences, even though Toph has the whole world at her feet and could go anywhere, do anything, she chooses to travel with him. She tells him it's because they're both in the Earth Kingdom anyways, and she's got nothing better to do, but Aang knows that she's there to give him support, and to be his friend. And he's grateful.

"I still don't like that we're letting the Generals vote on how to deal with the Fire Nation," Toph says after a time. "They've had a hundred years to come up with reasons to hate Zuko and his family; putting the power to do so in their hands won't make rainbows and sunshine."

Aang frowns. "The Earth King understands the position they're in, he won't let them declare war just because they've got a grudge to settle."

"You know that, sooner or later, something drastic is going to happen."

"Drastic like what?"

"I dunno. War. Something terrible. Assassination."

"Toph!"

Toph startles, slightly, and Aang wonders if he shouldn't have raised his voice; he intentionally lowers his tone. "Don't say stuff like that. We don't _want_ Zuko dead, remember?"

"_We_ don't, but _they_ do. It was never going to be a simple matter of putting them back in their respective Nations and slapping ourselves on the back, Aang." Toph squishes the ball of meteorite in her hand; it oozes out like black blood. "There's a lot of anger and a lot of animosity, and it's not going to just go away. We have to be prepared for a drastic action."

"How?"

"You're the Avatar. That's your department."

He doesn't like her answer, but it's, unfortunately, the only one he's going to get.

"You can come in!" Toph calls out suddenly, and Aang turns his head to spot the startled attendant just opening the door. It's not the first time she's done it, and Aang knows it gives Toph pleasure to surprise the palace servants like that.

"I have a letter," the attendant announces, holding the scroll out for Aang to accept. "From Firelord Zuko. He says the matter is not immediately urgent, but he would like your response as soon as possible."

"Can't be too bad, then," Toph surmises as Aang unrolls the paper and scans the contents.

"It's Mai!" There's a note of surprise and delight in Aang's voice as he releases the royal edict, nearly dropping it to the floor. "She's having a baby!"

"... Idea stealer."

"He says that they're both very excited and Mai is in good health, but ..." Aang quickly reopens the letter, reading it aloud for Toph's benefit. "'Due to the recent events that have shaken the Nation, as well as threats closer to home, we are keeping the news a private affair until it's deemed safe to proclaim it. Hoping you are well, Zuko.'"

"So he's not announcing he has an heir until people stop chucking rocks at his face?" Toph chuckled. "His kid will be in junior bending classes by the time that happens."

Aang, rolling up the letter once more, did not respond. Zuko's decision made sense; it wasn't safe to announce the continuation of the Royal Line when it was already under such threat. Still ...

"They're going to need us up there," Aang said decisively, rising to his feet. "Not just for moral support. If we can turn public opinion towards Zuko starting in the Capital, it'll help with our peace negotiations in the Colonies. Feel like taking a trip, Toph?"

"You mean, leave Ba Sing Se?" Toph was on her feet in a flash, an excited grin splitting her face nearly in half. "Hell yeah! I'll grab a bag and we can leave tonight!"

"We should probably tell the Earth King where we're -"

"Leave him a letter. _Let's leave tonight_."

Arching an eyebrow, Aang turned to the previously-ignored attendant. "Can you tell the Earth King that we've left for the Fire Nation, and tell him to send us any news?"

"Of course, sir." With a bow, that particular order was taken care of.

"I'll go get Appa ready. Grab your stuff and meet me outside in half an hour." Aang sprang to his feet, suddenly bursting with energy. The idea of moving, of _doing_ something, made him feel alive, eager, like he had just a year or two ago (had it been so long a time? it seemed like years away). He was at the door, ready to taste adventure again, when Toph spoke up.

"Should I tell Sokka and Katara?"

There is a distinctive feeling, when you are being Blood-Bent, where you feel like your veins have frozen, and the blood inside turns to ice. Aang felt it now.

"Zuko doesn't want anyone to know," Aang said automatically, even though Zuko only meant the general population, even though he would have wanted his friends to share his good news, even though Aang had no problems with Sokka knowing, and sharing in the good-natured teasing and jokes and celebration.

And if he knew, then Toph would, too.

She shrugged, like the matter was of no real importance, and brushed past him to get out the door, but she turned on the threshold. "You know," she said, very clearly, like she wanted Aang to take note of her words. "When you shout my name like that, it reminds me a little of Katara. Weird, huh?"

And then she was gone, without a word.


	3. Doubts

_****_**A/N: IT'S FINALLY UP YOU GUYS CAN STOP BUGGING ME NOW**. Sorry for the loooong delay; I've just moved into a new place for school and I haven't gotten much writing done. I'd love to talk about this chapter, and how it changes Aang and Katara and all that jazz, but I'm honestly too tired to think straight. Enjoy, and any critique is more than welcome! ~_TA._

* * *

_**K**_atara doesn't like his eyes.

They're blue, as eyes usually are in the South Pole, but they're an _unattractive _shade of blue. They're too wide, too close together, the eyelashes are too thin, and they have a tendency to focus on Katara's chest when they get the chance. Katara, in basic terms, liked the eyes about as much as she likes the one who owns them.

Which, unfortunately for Narook, was not a lot.

Katara especially dislikes how Narook treats his little sister on the days he picks her up from Waterbending class. It could not be clearer that Narook subscribes to the school of thought that once plagued Pakku: that girls did not make warriors, Waterbending was a male skill, and Katara should stick to Healing and cooking dinner. This doesn't stop Narook from hitting on Katara – it just makes the actual clumsy flirts all that much more intolerable.

Narook also has an unfortunate habit of standing a little too close to Katara when he speaks to her (always about himself). The chances of him actually hurting her are slim to none, but Katara values her space and dislikes unwanted persons invading it.

Narook is very, _very_ unwanted.

The sky overhead is a dark grey colour, and Katara knows they'll be tasting autumn in the Earth Kingdom, today. Ten or eleven young children stand before her in various Waterbending stances, their arms held high and their eyes bright and eager. She moves around the group, straightening up posture here or there, giving endless words of praise to her pupils, because in the months she has been here, she has seen a marked improvement in all of them. Pakku is still the greatest Waterbender she knows, but Pakku is also getting older, his movements are a little less speedy, and these kids still need to be trained.

"That's very good, Jia!" Katara calls, and Jia, only eight years old, grins. She was a shy little thing when Katara first met her, small for her age and her voice barely above a soft whisper, and now she stands tall, the best Bender in the class. Narook, who is standing off to the side, gives a snort of derisive laughter, which Katara does her best to ignore. It's either that, or turn him into a Jerksicle.

She runs the training a little longer than usual, hoping that Narook will get bored and stomp off without accosting her, but luck is against Katara today, and he's right off to her side when she finally dismisses her students. She hates the end of class, and not just because Narook is there; teaching these children what she knows is the only worthwhile thing Katara does with her time, lately.

She can _feel_ Narook slide up to her before she sees him, and Katara resists the urge to shout, to brush him away with a wave of water that will leave his descendants wet. Diplomacy is, after all, one of her many talents. Instead, she forces a smile and turns to face Narook …

Who is staring, quite openly, at her chest.

Screw diplomacy.

"Can I help you?" Katara asks rudely, crossing her arms over her breasts in a protective manner. Narook comes to with a slight jump, and it's Jia's turn to snort with derision. Jia, apparently, inherited all the decency in their family.

"Can we take a walk?" Narook asks now, obviously under the impression that he's being charming and suave. He's failing masterfully at both.

"I have to get home," she replies, which is completely true, and not hastened at all by the fact that Katara would rather gouge her eyes out with icicles than listen to Narook prattle any more than she has to.

"I can walk you!" He offers instantly, stepping a little closer, and Katara follows with a step back. She doesn't like how easily he invades her space.

"I know where my house is," She says briskly, and she takes another step back, effectively ending the conversation. She doesn't know how much more plainly she can make it: she doesn't want to spend time with Narook, she doesn't want to talk to him, she certainly doesn't want to walk with him. If it weren't for Jia, Katara would have no interactions with Narook at all.

Narook smirks, and takes another step closer, only this one is far more lengthy, and now he's an inch away from Katara's face, his hot breath on her skin, and Katara feels ill. "Don't be like that," he breathes, one of his hands sliding across her waist, despite his little sister being _right there_. "It's just a little walk? What's the harm in that?"

Her hand twitches at her side, and then she's completely drenched in head to toe, but it's completely worth it, because Narook is encased in ice up to his neck and he's howling in discomfort and Jia is laughing her little head off.

Screw diplomacy.

* * *

"_**Y**_ou," Gran Gran announces at dinner, about a week after Katara's run-in with Narook. "Need a vacation."

Katara, sitting on the other end of the table, pauses in the action of scooping sea prunes onto her plate. Her grandmother has been surprisingly quite as of late; she had barely said a word about Katara attacking a member of her Tribe, other than "What took you so damn long?" Although Katara had hoped the recent peace was due to a change of heart, rather than a change of tactics, it looked like she was about to be disappointed, once again.

"Why would I need a vacation?" She asks now, a little defensively, as she passes the bowl on. "I'm perfectly happy here."

"Katara, there are many things I will tolerate in my house, but I will _not_ tolerate lying. You're utterly miserable here – all you do is teach those children Waterbending."

"A noble profession, to be sure," Pakku put in mildly; Katara shot her new grandfather a look of thanks.

"A very noble profession," Gran Gran agreed, looking like she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes with the greatest of difficulties. "But I doubt it's her destiny."

"Isn't that something for me to figure out?" Katara inquired, doing her best to imitate Pakku's mild way of speaking, but feeling a bubble of irritation expand in her stomach anyways.

Gran Gran set her fork down, fixing Katara with a rather serious look. "Of course it is. I can advise you, sweetie, that's all. Your fate is up to you. But you'll never know your destiny if you hide in the corner, waiting for time to move on without you. It's why I'm asking for you to go off, explore, take some time to yourself. See your friends! But don't waste away in this barren wasteland. For my sake, get out there and _do_ something."

Unsure, Katara glanced at Pakku, who was following the exchange silently, eyes bright with interest. "It's a good compromise," he said simply, and Katara nodded.

"I'll see what I can do," Katara replied, and Gran Gran smiled.

* * *

_**Z**_uko had aged since Aang had seen him last.

They had all grown older since the War had ended, all of them leaving behind the vestiges of youth (or, in Aang's case, keeping his more childish pursuits to himself) and embracing a new era of responsibility and growth. The changes were subtle: Aang found, one morning, that Toph had grown several inches, that her clothes were no longer shapeless and baggy. Sokka had broadened, his voice had deepened, he had turned into a handsome warrior with a strong, rugged face that resembled his father's.

Even more surprising than the deepening of Sokka's voice, denoting manhood, was that Aang, too, had grown. He was no longer the wiry youth who could be overlooked for his size: his shoulders had widened, he had shot up a good four inches, and he had built some rather impressive musculature framework. If Aang were a vain boy, he might have reveled in his newfound attraction, but as it was, Aang was just relieved that the short jokes had stopped.

Zuko had grown a few more inches in the year or so of Kingship, but the aging was not predominant in height: it was the weary look in his eyes, the lines on his face, the way he walked, as if he expected an attack at any moment. He seemed to have turned from a bright, excited youth of sixteen, to an old, paranoid man, and it broke Aang's heart to see it.

He'd been hard at work when Toph and Aang had been announced, sitting at a desk so packed with scrolls and papers that only the top of his head had been visible. Aang had the quick, sudden thought that, perhaps, Zuko shouldn't be disturbed at the moment, but then Toph was doing her sarcastic greetings and Zuko had leapt from his seat and practically broken their ribs in a hug quite uncharacteristic for him, and they had all settled down to the business of catching up over tea, as easily as ever.

"We haven't picked any names, yet," Zuko was saying now, as he poured the special infusion his Uncle had created into three large mugs. "Mai wants a girl, but I'm fine with both. Only Uncle, and you two, and Sokka and Katara know. We haven't even told her parents, yet." A sudden haunted look flashed over his face. "Oh, Spirits, her _parents,_ they're going to be –"

"Complete idiots, as most grandparents tend to be." Toph finished, lifting her cup to her lips and draining the sake in one gulp. "_Relax_, Zuko, the baby isn't due for months. You have plenty of time to worry yourself to death without wasting it all on the boring stuff."

Aang debated giving Toph a smack on the arm, but desisted, knowing she'd hit back. Harder. "It'll be fine, Zuko. People love babies, I'm sure this will be a great morale for the Fire Nation."

"If they haven't tried to set me on fire, first." Gloom settled over the Fire Lord's face, and he slumped over, suddenly looking too weary to hold himself upright. "It's a mess, Aang. I've never seen so many people so _angry_. What did they expect when the war ended? That nothing was going to change? Things _have_ to change! I can't just let the Fire Nation do whatever they want without consequence, and I can't kick them out of their homes because the Earth Kingdom wants the land back. It's a mess."

"A mess we're here to help with," Aang interjected, to Toph's nod. "But not tonight. Tell us how Iroh's doing, I want to hear about his shop …"

* * *

"_**Y**_ou made it!"

The boat Katara was exiting from rocked precariously as Suki threw her arms around her waist, strangling the Waterbender in a tight hug. Slightly out of breath, Katara laughed, reached out to return the embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of the ocean, of smoky campfires and the oils from the makeup of the Kyoshi Warriors.

"Of course I made it," Katara said now, as Suki pulled away, a grin lighting across her pretty face. "I wouldn't miss out on seeing the Kyoshi Warriors, again! Besides, I needed the rest."

"Well, you've come to the right place." Linking her arm through Katara's, Suki immediately set out on a brisk walk, pushing her way with relative ease through the crowd that had gathered to see Katara. "We're a positive paradise over here. We actually have to beat the people away."

Katara might have thought her friend was being flippant if, at that exact moment, they didn't amble past the Magistrate's office. A long line of refugees snaked around the building, most of them families, a mixture of Earth and Fire Nation. Katara arched her brow and turned to Suki, who shrugged.

"It's safe, here," she said, by way of explanation. "Safe is a rapidly dwindling currency, nowadays."

"Has there been a lot of that?"

"More than we can handle. Aang's been over a few times, widened the island a bit –" She gestured to a raised section of land that had not been there the last time Katara had visited; it was covered with buildings and people, and it still didn't seem like it was enough. "But there's only so much he can do. To be honest, we hated asking him for even that. He's been run ragged, the poor guy." Her gaze flickered sideways to Katara, but Katara steadfastly ignored the silent question.

"If it's too much of a stretch having me here …"

"Don't be silly!" Suki stopped before the house that – Katara recalled in a painful flash of memory – the Gaang had stayed in on their first visit to the island. "We always have room for friends. I have to go do my rounds, but we'll catch up tonight, alright?"

For a moment, Suki simply stood there, that smile on her face and her eyes shining. Then, she pulled Katara into another bone-crushing hug. "Spirits, Katara, we've really missed you!"

* * *

"_**C**_ouldn't sleep, huh?"

Aang had always liked the gardens in the Fire Nation. They were always works of art, elaborate greenery designed to impress, designed to awe, designed to be bigger and better than even nature itself. It was hard not to feel at peace in the Fire Palace's maze of roses and lavender trees, hard not to feel sleepy and content when you rested next to one of the fountains. Here, at least, Aang could pretend that there was no war.

Zuko stepped into the candlelight and looked wistfully around the garden where Aang was sitting, like this was the last time he'd ever see the place. "I come here all the time. It helps me to think."

"Does it work?"

"Not really. I still like it, though."

He took a seat, next to Aang, on the fountain's edge, letting his hand dip into the cool water, watching the ripples that fanned out across the surface. Close-to, Aang could see the lines of strain on the young Fire Lord's face in greater prominence, could see how tired and ill his friend looked. We're all getting old before our time, Aang thought wryly, lying back on the cool marble and staring up at the stars. I'm going to start growing grey hairs, soon.

"I want you to know that I appreciate this, Aang," Zuko said after a moment, still watching the ripples in the fountain. "Coming out here. Helping me."

"It's what friends are for, Sifu Hotman."

A smile tugged on the edges of Zuko's mouth, but he shook his head. "You've gone above and beyond, Aang. You've done more than anyone has asked of you, and you do it so _willingly_. Don't you ever get tired?"

"Being the Avatar doesn't come with a break."

They fell into an easy silence – the kind the comes with being friends through difficult times – and for a while, the only sounds were the crickets in the grass and the gentle lap of the water against the fountain edge.

"You never told me what happened to you and Katara."

Zuko's voice was quiet, but Aang reacted like he had been shouted at. He tensed, visibly, and shifted away from Zuko, opening his mouth on an automatic defense.

"Nothing," Zuko supplied dryly, before Aang could make the denial. "That's kind of insulting, you expecting me to believe that."

"It's complicated."

Zuko snorted, as if suggesting Aang was going to have to come up with a better reason than that.

It's very quiet as Aang swings his legs over the fountain's rim, sitting upright, topping Zuko by a full inch or two. His arrows seems to glow in the moonlight, and Zuko is struck by the realization that Aang is _old_. His body is young, his spirit is young, but it's an old soul in Aang, a soul that has seen thousands of years of war and bitterness, and yet resides in the body of a smiling young man.

When Aang speaks, his voice is quiet. "She wouldn't come with me."

* * *

_**H**er skin is cold, a product of the freezing wind from the North that is blowing in through the cracks of their hut. The floor is lined with old furs, but they still feel as wonderful and as luxurious as the day they arrived, so Katara has no complaints about that. Her fingers rift through the strands as she seeks for something to grip, searches desperately for a hold on something, as the pale man between her legs slides his tongue into her warm center, sucks gently on her clit, and makes her want to scream his name until the Spirits take her to blissful oblivion._

_His hands are warm, so warm, and they slide up her hips as he pleasures her, then along the smooth skin of her stomach, before they reach her breasts, and Katara whimpers at the added sensation, her back arching involuntarily off the ground as Aang chuckles, the sound reverberating on her flesh, causing her hands to jump from the furs to the taut skin of his back. Her nails dig into the flesh, trail down the line of his arrows, and the pace of his tongue increases, until she comes with a sharp cry and dissolves into a messy puddle of pleasure._

_He lifts his head from between her thighs, and she's struck by how handsome the Avatar is in moonlight, the broad stretch of shoulders meeting a firm expanse of muscle in his chest. Her hand, shaking slightly, trails along the lines of his body and his eyes drift shut, breathing hitched slightly. Her body is still tingling from her last orgasm, but she wants him inside her so badly she could scream. She always wants him._

_His eyes darken with lust as he reads her mind, as only he can, and he takes her hand and places it on his stiffening cock, his breath catching on a muffled curse as she tightens her hold and slowly begins to jerk him off. "Impatient?" He asks, and it sounds like he's run a thousand miles, he's so ragged and breathless._

"_Never start something without intending to finish it," She tells him, a smile curling on her lips, and he laughs, pressing forward, pulling her onto his lap so that he can brush his lips across her taut nipples, feel her moisture on his thigh. _

"_I never do," he informs her, and she lifts herself up, tall, taller than him, and lowers herself onto him, and he stretches her, fill hers up, like only he can_.

* * *

_**T**_he fire warms her as she sits on the beach, watching the stars blinking up in the night sky. It's late, but she's not tired: she's used to the loss of time that occurs when you travel, and besides, she hasn't seen Suki in far too long. The two girls sit, huddled under fur blankets, and let the fire wash over them, and it reminds Katara of a time when things were simple.

"I still don't understand," Suki says after a moment, and Katara waits for the question she knew was coming. "Why you and Aang aren't together anymore."

"We wanted different things," Katara says lightly; and maybe that answer worked once, on the people who didn't really want to know, didn't really care, but it doesn't work on Suki.

"You know that's not true, Katara." Suki frowns, tightening the blanket around her, and she reminds Katara of Sokka, with that determined expression of hers. Warriors expressions, fight-to-the-last-man. "I can't think of anything you and Aang would disagree with."

"We argued about a lot of things!" Katara retorts, stung. "Like … like where to camp for the night, or if Appa needed a break, or …"

She trails off, aware that she's lost her point, but she doesn't want to spoil the night with some sad story. There's been enough nights, spoiled.

Finally, she sighs, brushing the hair out of her eyes and focusing on the movement of the waves, the steady thrum of the ocean under the constant moon. "Did Sokka ever tell you what happened to our mother?"

"Once. Before the Invasion. But I guessed it was along those lines when I met you."

"When the War ended, I thought … I don't know. I guess I thought that things would change. That how I felt about the Fire Nation would change, or that _they_ would change. That _something_ would be different. But it wasn't. They were defeated, but I didn't feel pity, or relief. I felt angry. These people … they had perpetrated genocide and murder and horrible, horrible war, for a hundred years. They had killed my mother, they had killed the Air Benders! But suddenly, we were supposed to be _friends_. Everything was fine, they were _good people, _people who hadn't done anything wrong."

"Not all of them did," Suki said, and her voice was soft.

"They didn't pick up the weapons, Suki, but they let it happen. Everyone in the Fire Nation prospered from the war. New land, new fortune, new glory, it all came on the back of murderers. And I couldn't reconcile with that. I wanted peace, I still want peace, but I couldn't just forgive them. I needed time."

"And Aang wouldn't give you that?"

* * *

"_**I**_ gave her as much time as she needed," Aang's voice, which had been a relative monotone, now took on a slight pitch of frustration. "I never pushed her to forgive them, because I could understand. I worked alone, so she could find inner peace. But then the war criminals had to be charged. D'you remember?"

Zuko nodded. They had hauled the generals up to the capital when the war had ended – the soldiers who had been vicious and cruel for no other reason than to be vicious and cruel, and had charged them with crimes against humanity. "We put a lot of prominent men behind bars."

"Well, it wasn't enough for Katara."

* * *

"_**Y**_ou wanted them killed?"

"I wanted them _punished!_" Katara's voice pitched up, a thread of frustration and hurt. "You heard their crimes, Suki, you knew what they had done! Rape and murder and killing women and children, demolishing villages, starving Benders, it was all right there, and they _didn't care!_ They had been happy to do all those things, they had _benefitted_ under it! They were criminals, even in the Fire Nation! And Aang slapped them in irons and thought that was justice!"

* * *

"_**I**_t wasn't all your decision, though!" Zuko protested, running his hand over his forehead in frustration. "We were a council, we made a unified decision. _I_ was the one who pushed for life imprisonment. _I _was the one who said that bloodshed would be the worst way to open a new reign!"

"I tried to explain it that way, too," Aang said, the grey of his eyes like the storm on a sea. "But she was angry, and she was hurt, and she saw it as a slap on the wrist, and she wanted justice. And it bothered me. I don't like killing, Zuko, I don't agree with it, and I understand that not everyone feels that way, but Katara _knew_ how I felt about murder! She knew I would never willingly take a life. And she was still angry."

"So what did you do?"

"I lost my temper. I accused her of taking her rage for the man who killed her mother out on the Fire Nation."

* * *

"_**H**_e _what?!_"

"Exactly! And it was like something had broken between us, Suki. And when he went off to make peace, I stayed behind. And now I'm here."

The wind near shore had picked up, and Suki shivered, burrowing deeper into the warm furs. "I just … I don't understand. I don't understand why Aang would say that, and I don't understand why you would let that tear you guys apart."

"HE ACCUSED –"

"I know _what_ he said!" Suki's tone took on a faint hint of irritation. "I heard the story, Katara, I understand! But don't you think you handled it wrong?"

"_I_ HANDLED IT WRONG?!"

Suki threw her hand up, the full authority of the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors sparking through her eyes. "I'm not saying he was right, Katara. It was the wrong move to make, accusing you of that, but look at it from a _rational_ point of view. You solved nothing by letting him run away. You solved nothing by sulking in your room. People are dying, and you're sitting here moping because Aang picked up on something that you've been trying to repress since you were a kid."

Katara was thunderstruck, but Suki wasn't finished. "He's right, you _do_ hate the Fire Nation. And you have a right to! _I _hate the Fire Nation. I hate what they've done, I hate how they put me in a prison for defending my people. I hate them, I might always hate them. But I know Aang, I know that he's fighting for something worthwhile, and I'm willing to fight _for_ Aang, because that's the side that's going to win. And if you can't see that, Katara … well, did you ever really deserve him?"

* * *

_**Hi**s skin was damp with sweat, a soft sheen of it on his forehead, and she could taste it on her tongue when she dragged her lips across his throat, sucked gently on the place where his pulse was leaping erratically. He was firm inside of her, moving slowly, so slowly, too slowly, and she locked her legs around his waist in a silent urge for him to continue. His chuckle made her smile, and his arms came to wrap around her waist, his head buried in the crook of her neck as he thrusted, hard, within in, firm, steady strokes that sent Katara reeling._

_She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, letting herself feel the sensation of Aang inside her, and the way his fingers trailed so reverently across her skin, and when she looked at him, his eyes were on her and there was adoration in his gaze._

"_I don't deserve you," he whispered, and she shook her head, her hair flowing like a wave down her back._

"_I love you," she said instead, and he groaned with desire as she moved above him, bringing him to his peak._

* * *

_**I**_t was cold when Zuko finally retired for bed; the moon was sinking out of sight, and Aang could feel dew in the air, a brisk morning not far off. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep; he was restless, but couldn't run. He felt like he was standing in front of a great puzzle, blocking his way, and he couldn't go forward or back until all the pieces fit.

How much simpler things could be, he thought wearily, letting his posture slump, if Roku had taken care of Sozin all those years ago.

He shouldn't think those things, he knew. If Sozin hadn't gone forward with his plans, the chances were, someone else would have. Aang couldn't hold the crimes of the past up to the justice of the future; all the same, _Roku_ wasn't dealing with absolute political turmoil.

He was tired.

_He was flying on the back of an ancient dragon, the wind whipping about them. Aang could see islands flying out from under them, see the dark blue of the ocean turn to a softer shade of turquoise that suggested shallower waters. Then the water disappeared completely, and they were moving over land, rocky terrain that gave way to sparse mountains._

_He recognized they were at the Western Air Temple before they actually reached it, and his stomach clenched, the familiar wave of happiness and grief washing over him. The dragon soared through the clouds and then, lightly, descended, and Aang slid off it's back, turning once to give the creature a reassuring pat, before he followed the steps etched into his memory to Monk Gyatso's room._

_He had one, foolish, thought that his old friend would be there to greet him, but Aang had known better than to wish for foolish things. The door swung open._

"_Hello, Aang," said Avatar Roku._

"_It's good to see you, Roku."_

"_Is it? I would think you'd be annoyed with me."_

_They were walking over the smooth stones of the Temple, their footsteps making no noise whatsoever, and Aang frowned. "How do you figure that?"_

"_You're still fighting my War, Aang. I don't think I can apologize enough for that."_

_Aang shrugged, a pang of guilt in his stomach for thinking those exact thoughts just a few minutes earlier. "Sozin was the one who attacked the Earth Kingdom. Not you."_

_Roku nodded, like this was the answer he had expected. "But now the people are fighting, and the future is unstable," he remarked, as if they were commenting on the weather._

"_Yes."_

"_It's not an easy thing, when the people fight against the people meant to protect them."_

"_I'm lost, Roku," Aang confessed in a rush, and he felt like a small boy again, alone and scared. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to do it. And I don't know how to stop all this without spilling blood."_

_Roku was quiet, but his eyes were sad; would Aang have that same look, one day, as he looked upon the next Avatar? How long would it be before the cycle resumed itself? A year? Ten? Was his time drawing near?_

"_There's not much I can give you, Aang, except advice," Roku stopped before the wall depicting the First Airbenders; it had been destroyed in the attack that killed the monks, Aang recalled, and his gut clenched painfully, once again. "And I'm afraid even advice isn't much help, in these times."_

"_Hey, I'll take anything I can get."_

_He thought he saw the hint of a smile on Roku's old face, but it was gone in a flash. "The Avatar State remains, as always, your most powerful weapon. Not just for bloodshed, not just for mindless violence. You need to harness it, to truly control it."_

_Aang nodded, feeling slightly bewildered; had he not already mastered that particular hurdle._

_As if reading his thoughts, Roku continued, "You cannot control it with these doubts, Aang. You're blocked in by fear, by earthly attachment. Now, if ever, is the time to release those attachments."_

"_I'm trying, I swear I am. It's just …" Aang exhaled sharply, trying to put words to his frustrations. "It's hard not to feel scared. For my friends, for myself. It's hard not to feel guilt that I can't fix this. It's hard not to feel attached."_

"_Your fear is justified, Aang, but you can't defeat these problems with it. And fear is not your only attachment." Roku looked at Aang, expectantly, and Aang felt the faint forebringing of doom._

"_I don't understand."_

"_Don't you, Aang?"_

"_You're talking about Katara."_

_Even now, even the Spirit World, the mention of her name brought a series of conflicting emotions to Aang: desire and hurt, love and frustration, a desire to see again and a fear that he would never do so. _

_He walked away from Roku, towards the balcony that oversaw the mountains, and looked down on the earth, wondering at the suffering below, the pain, the constant fear, the hunger, the loss. Three years ago, two, the thought of permanently setting Katara on a shelf – of putting her aside, never to be with her again – would have been intolerable, inexcusable, impossible. _

"_This would be forever, wouldn't it?" He asked, and although he couldn't see Roku, he could imagine his expression. "Not just for a minute, not just for a day. This would be for the rest of my life."_

"_The decision is up to you, Aang."_

_The answer he had been expecting, if not the one he wanted._

"_If you had asked me a year ago," Aang said finally, his voice quiet. "I would have said no. Without a second thought."_

"_And now?"_

_Aang didn't answer._


	4. The Spark

**A/N**: I want to firstly apologize for how long it's been since I've updated this story! It's been a really busy 2013, and I've recently gotten some bad news that put me out of writing for a bit, but I received a few kicks in the butt from some loyal readers and I finally finished the chapter tonight.

Fair warning that his particular chapter is unbeta'd and probably sucks really badly, but oh well. Thanks again for your patience, and please, feel free to leave me a critique or two! _~TA._

* * *

_**T**_here is a breeze on the shore tonight, and it's carrying an ill omen on it.

By eight o'clock, the village on the seaside has doused its lights, called the children inside, packed up the carts full of trades and goods, and disappeared into their houses, shutting their windows and locking their doors, all with an air of frightened expectancy. It's been a long time since the Fire Nation has been afraid of anything, but there is unrest up and down the coast, in the villages on the border, in the very heart of the capital, where the Fire Lord lies, wide-awake with worry. There's something in the air, and tonight, it presses into every home.

Near the center of the village, where there was dancing and singing at Zuko's coronation, Old man Ket is feverishly tying his wares together, thrusting what little profits he has made today into the pocket of his patched trousers, his gnarled hands shaking with what he tries to tell himself is just cold. The city center is empty, but the breeze plays tricks on his aging eyes, making the leaves on the trees and the flags hanging limp from their poles into monstrous forms. He remembers an old story of people who disappeared into a forest when the moon was full; their limbs controlled by an unknown spirit, never to be seen or heard from again, and shake his head, mentally scolding himself for being a child while his hands shake harder than before.

From the corner of his eye, a shadow seems to move; springing from the top of the alley to the edge of the building nearest him, and it's like ice licking up his spine. _Just a trick,_ he thinks, as he shoves the tarp over his cart and begins to hobble away as fast as he can. _Or a hippocat. You old fool, jumping at shadows_.

Even as he limps up and away, along the cobbled street, the shadow is watching him leave, one hand pressed against the firm stone of the ground beneath it, and the other against the brick of the building that shields it from the moonlight. For a few minutes, the shadow is absolutely still. Then, a soft breeze stirs the air like a sigh, and the shadow is off, into the night.

It doesn't linger anywhere for very long. Hopping from darkened path to darkened corner, the shadow makes its way through the courtyard, away from the city and towards the caves that litter the beachside, dark, dangerous places that children are forbidden to play in for fear of serious injury. Evil stories of witches who gobble stray children up and store their bones in the ancient caves, stories of cannibals and monsters and spirits, have kept the inquisitive away. But shadows do not fear monsters.

Out of sight of the city, the shadow pauses, tightening its thick brown coat around their small form, their quick and agile leaps turning into quiet and nimble steps. Down the shore it goes, silent and still, until finally, there is a quick snatch of torchlight and the looming figure of a man, who looks down at the shadow with cold calculation.

"Password?" He asks, holding his light a little higher, as if to study the shadow better.

"Long live the Dragons," the shadow says calmly, and with a grunt, the gatekeeper steps aside, letting the cloaked figure slip past him, soft as a whisper.

If the shore-town was silent that night, it was because all the noise was stored inside the cave. It was filled with people, men with scars on their faces and hard looks in their eyes and, more importantly, it was filled with the sort of people the Fire Nation didn't want anymore: old loyalists, soldiers, men who had everything to gain by plotting against Zuko, who lost everything when the scarred prince took the throne. The shadow, who paused upon seeing the sheer number crammed into this hidden crevice, takes a position near the back, wanting to see all, but unwilling to be seen.

At the center are a group of men arguing, voices pitched low, but with a noticeable tremor of aggression running through them. Bystanders noted one in old Fire Nation armor, tattered and worn, but impeccably polished and burnished bright. The others are in various states of rags, and it could not be clearer that they are men on the run, hiding in holes like this, stealing food and supplies, getting angrier with every passing day. As the shadow strains to hear individual conversations through the din, the soldier starts to yell, and everyone in the cave quiets to hear him.

"- Been almost four fucking years since the little bastard got his ass on that chair and now look at us! I can't do it anymore, I want to fight, I wanna break his little skull into –"

"Get going then!" One of his companions roared, giving the soldier a quick shove. "And good luck! I'd like to see you do what all the others couldn't, not with that damn Avatar flying around –"

"Enough," the third man said, as the soldier snarled something intelligible and raised his arm, ready to fight. "We won't get anything done with you two squabbling like Water Tribe peasants."

The two men previously at arms turned to glare at the third, but he wasn't looking at them. Spread before him, on a shoddy little table at the center of the cave, were papers, sketches and blueprints and lists, and the man was tracing one map with his fingers, following some route through the faded ink of the Earth Kingdom. "When the time comes, we can deal with the Avatar," he continued, well aware that he held the attention of everyone in the room. "But until then, we're not strong enough to fight. Not yet."

There was a disgruntled mumbling from the crowd, and the man finally looked up. His dark eyes swept over the group, pausing on this face or that, scanning over the shadow without concern, and then fixing themselves back on the papers before him. "Our problem," he announced, slightly louder, "Is the Bastard on the throne. With Fire Lord Ozai locked away and his daughter, the Princess, held captive, there is no one capable of taking the throne, or holding it. And with the Avatar hovering stupidly behind him, the Bastard will continue breaking down our boundaries, giving away our hard-earned land and treasures and children, to the Earth King and the Water Tribe. And so ends the glorious reign of the Fire Nation."

He paused as fresh mutters broke out, louder, angrier mutters that indicated the displeasure of the room.

"What are we supposed to do, then?" A sulky voice called from the back.

"Kill the brat!" The soldier interjected spitefully, and there was a chorus of agreement.

"Killing the bee doesn't get rid of the hive," the man said patiently. "Killing Zuko leaves the Fire Nation more defenseless than ever. While Zuko has no child, the crown is supposed to pass to his sister, the Princess Azula. Zuko has written her out of the succession, and hasn't named an air. If he were to die without issue, the Avatar might be the one to handpick his successor."

There was a sharp roar of protest, and the man raised his hands for quiet.

"We're agreed, then, it's an intolerable conclusion. The only way to effectively cripple this new movement is to kill Zuko –" he paused, and there was a kind of hushed anticipation for his next words. "_And_ the Earth King. Kill them both and the Avatar will lose his two greatest allies. From there, it's only a matter of time before we end him, as well."

"And how do you plan on killing the two most heavily guarded men in the world?" Another voice called out, and there was a spattering of agreement from the crowd.

"It will need to be carefully done." The man who had previously argued with the soldier carefully smoothed one of the maps out. "A simultaneous attack, otherwise one of them might catch wind of the plan and go into hiding. We will need to infiltrate the capital, and Ba Sing Sai, surround them with our men so that they cannot escape their attack. We already have contacts with the Dai Lee –"

"Those Earth Kingdom bastards?!"

"They see no profit from this restoration process, either," the Leader – for surely, that was who he was – said smoothly. "And we cannot infiltrate Ba Sing Sai without them."

"So what do you need from us?"

"Patience," the Leader said. "Gather supplies. Weapons. Spread the news to the faithful. When the time comes, there will be citizens who will resist the regime change, and fighting will break out in the streets. We need to be prepared. Recruit others, but do not give away too much. One wrong move will blow our entire cover, and there is no sympathy for traitors. Until then, wait for my mark."

The shadow had heard enough. Drawing their cloak tight, they slipped away from the noise of the crowd, through the opening and down the path, the night air a little colder on their skin.

_So, that's what's got Zuko so worried,_ it thought, a little wryly, hurrying away from the oppressive air of the cave. _I don't blame him_.

The path the shadow took was curving, taking travellers away from the rocky outback and closer towards the beach and the town. The shadow followed it, paying no mind to the soft moonlight on the waves or the glint of sand, focusing instead on the hard ground underfoot, the little pebbles kicked aside and, finally –

Footsteps.

The shadow hesitated. _Fight, or flight_? The footsteps were getting closer, heavier.

With a little smile, the shadow shrugged off its cloak and turned to face the men who had followed her.

"You pansies come looking for a real fight, then?" Toph Bei Fong announced.

With a start, Aang wakes up, one arm moving instinctively to shield the body beside him as he peers through the darkness of his room.

But there is no one in the room and, more importantly, no one beside him in the bed.

The blankets have fallen off of him in the night, and the chill has woken him up. With a sigh, Aang tugs the heavy fabric back up to his shoulders, but he does not lie back down. Instead, he sits, hunched on the bed, wrapped in the blanket Gran Gran had given to him as a gift, not even two years ago, watching the clouds drift across the moon. It's almost full, and he likes to think that Yue is up there, beaming down on the world she sacrificed so much for.

He's tired. The nights are long, but there's no rest in them, not when he has to watch and wait and pray that his friends are safe for another day, that peace can hold out just a little longer. He's tired and his bones feel like they're thousands of years old, holding up the earth, willing the cracks to smooth over before they splinter apart entirely.

He misses her.

He doesn't think about Katara during the day (or, at least, he tries not to), but at night, when he is supposed to be resting, he pictures the way she looked in the moonlight, the way her skin seemed to shine with some kind of pearly translucence, the way her hair spread out across the pillows, the brightness of her eyes when he told her he loved her.

His shoulders stiffen as he draws the blanket even tighter around him.

Avatar Roku is lying.

That's the only conclusion Aang has come to, after meditating for eight hours on a cold rock by the sunny beaches of the Earth Kingdom, after pleading and harassing and irritating every spirit in the Other World for answers. Avatar Roku is lying, because the only alternative is that Avatar Roku is _not_ lying and Aang is going to lose Katara forever.

Roku had a wife, didn't he? They had children! Koruk, Kyoshi, they all had lovers and loves and family, so why can't he, Aang? What great sin has he committed? Why, after all he has worked for and sacrificed for, bled for and cried for, can't he be happy?

He's so very tired, but there's no sleep for him tonight, or the next, or the night after next. So he sits, and he waits, and he thinks, in the lonely bed that used to hold the one person he promised he would never let go.

"What happened to keeping a low profile?!"

The three henchmen who were given the unfortunate task of following Toph Bei Fong are lying, unconscious, on the ground, and Sokka is giving them a look of weary dismay, like the owner of an alligator-dog who always insists on bringing dead birds home. Toph, the alligator-dog in question, is sitting opposite him, feet kicked up before the fire, supremely unconcerned.

"Would have been a lot less of a fuss if we weren't so close to the cave," she remarks, yawning. "They're going to come looking for their buddies eventually."

"_Eventually_ is the key word." Sokka prodded one of the henchmen with his foot; the henchman stayed unconscious. "Think anyone recognized you?"

"Nah, they probably just thought I looked suspicious." Toph shrugged. "Definitely recognized a couple of them, though. Low life's who are, to my knowledge, supposed to be in prison."

"So that means that there's been a breakout we don't know about, or the prison wardens let them out." Sokka tossed another log on the fire. "Either way isn't very good for us."

"This whole damn plot isn't good for us. They sound like they've already got a ring around Zuko and the Earth King, and now they're just waiting to tighten the noose." Toph sat up, looking uncharacteristically serious. "Not to mention that there are a lot of rebel groups still moving around, undetected. One wrong move and we could have a slaughter on our hands before you can say _monkeyfeathers_."

"I know," Sokka acknowledged the concern with a nod of his head. "But until we know who our allies are, we're as stuck as they are. It all comes down to numbers, doesn't it?"

"We've beaten the odds before."

"Back then, the odds had a face. This is different. This is like we're fighting a ghost, or something. It keeps changing, it even looks like our friends, sometimes – why are you looking at me like that?"

Toph, her gaze fixed and one eyebrow cocked in a quizzical expression, said, "You sound like a girl."

"What?!" Sokka spluttered. "Well I … you … you sound like … shut up!"

Snickering, Toph leaned back in her seat, tilting her face up to the sky. "Any words from Sugar Queen?"

"Nothing yet." Sokka shot another glance at their sleeping visitors. "But give it time. The closer she is to the action, the harder it'll be for her to resist it."

"And Aang?"

"Sad. Tired." A thread of concern weaved its way through Sokka's voice. "He's taking this like a personal blow."

"Well, he shouldn't." Toph rejoined promptly. "We knew there'd be issues when we put Zuko on the throne."

"Hell of a lot of issues, if you ask me."

"Well, no one is."

Sokka's rude retort was drowned out slightly as Toph threw another log on the fire.

After a moment, Toph said, quietly, "You think … him and Katara –"

"Toph," Sokka said, his voice low and comforting. "I was there the day Katara pulled him from that iceburg and I will be there the day Aang has to pass on the reigns to the new Avatar. And I can promise you that Katara will be, too. There's no force in this world or the next that can separate them, much as it gives me the oogies to say it."

Toph chuckled. "You haven't said that one in a while."

"Guess I'm feeling nostalgic tonight."

Another moment of silence, although it was a warmer, kinder one than before.

"So, what do you think of me being a mom?"

"_**WHAT THE FU –**_"


	5. The Flame

**A/N: **First of all, I want to thank everyone for the reviews, the notes of encouragement, the favourites, and the support. I've never attempted such a large project before, and knowing that some of the best Kataang authors out there have noticed this dumb little fanfic (QueenoftheCute, The Melon Lord Approves, and DJNS, I'm looking at _you_) is terrifying as hell.

Secondly, I appreciate all the patience you guys have for how long the updates take! From hereon in, the chapters should be posted much more frequently, especially as I've gotten everything plotted out to the end.

You guys are the best, and the long smut at the end of this chapter is allll for you! ~_TA_

* * *

_**S**_trange things are washing up from the rivers of the Earth Kingdom, much to the inhabitants disquiet.

It starts off as whispers. Rumors of ghosts and spirits, tired of the bloodshed and the misery, ancestral beings reclaiming their war-torn land. Rumors, however whispered and furtive they might be, were only whispers, and no one paid them any mind.

But then the horse-eagles started to riot near the streams, and strange mists would envelop a village in the middle of the night, silent and soft, a shadow in the dark.

And then the disappearances began.

In the village of Phan, the locals depend on the river for water and for relief from the scorching desert days. They're far enough away from the big cities to count themselves out of the war and the dissention, but news trickles down on the water, and one day, it comes in the form of Jyung.

Starving, half-mad, baked by the sun and nearly drowned by the river, Jyung washes up on shore in the tattered rags of the Dai Lee. His appearance starts off mutters and complaints – no one wants to invite a stranger into their home, at the risk of his powerful friends coming along shortly after – but kindness prevails, and Jyung is fed and watered and rested as best as the townspeople can provide.

A few days after his discovery, Jyung begins to talk, and his ramblings are terrifying.

He rants about his army, the troop movements, the warfare and the unrest, the anger and the talk of war, the plotting and the riots that are bubbling just under the surface. He'll go on for hours about his fellow soldiers, the Dai Lee who are willing to commit treason to prevent their home from falling into Fire Nation hands once more. He talks of plots and plans and nightmares so dizzying that no one can listen to him for very long.

And always, _always_, when he's exhausted his ravings about the Earth Kingdom, he screams about the Painted Lady.

No one knows who she is. No one knows what happened. All anyone knows is that Jyung was travelling with his men up the river, spoiling for a fight, and something stopped him.

One night, Jyung disappears from the village, and no one wastes much time weeping about it.

But they cast wary eyes on the river, all the same.

* * *

The letters on the page are blurring together, turning into black shapes that dance in the low-light of the candle, and Aang groans, pressing the palm of his hands against his eyes, letting his shoulders slump from their aching position. Outside, the sky is fading from deepest blue to faint, dusty pink, telling him that he's spent another fruitless night reading reports that tell him everything he already knows.

His forehead touches the cold polished wood of his table, and he breathes deeply, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He so dearly wants to sleep, to drift into black nothingness, but every time he closes his eyes, he's plagued by nightmares that leave him gasping for air, cold sweat soaking his sheets and giving him the look of a corpse brought most unwillingly back to life. For now, he has to make do with snatched seconds of quiet, made shorter as the world around him descends assuredly into chaos.

The map before him is dotted with pins, red and green and even a few blue crisscrossing every stretch of ink, forming lines and formations and representing war, a war that Aang is assuredly losing, no matter how much he tries. He's beyond feeling frustrated or angry or determined: he's _lost_. He's lost this war before it's even started, he's lost the chance to bring peace, and he's lost everything that matters to him, because Sokka and Toph are gone, collecting information for useless meetings, and Katara is always far away.

His brow furrows and Aang determinedly raises his head and stares at his map. He won't think of Katara, he won't, he _won't._

A soft knock at his door gives him a grateful interruption from his thoughts, and Aang nearly flies from his chair to answer it, smiling a tired smile when he sees Zuko on the other side. The Fire Lord looks as exhausted as Aang feels, and there are fresh lines on his young face, but there's a hopeful gleam in his gold eyes, today, and a fresh bounce in his step. He looks animated for the first time in weeks, and animated is something Aang can use.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Zuko asks as he slips into the room, dropping into a plush chair and ruffling his untidy black hair. "You look worse than I do."

"I might have dozed off, or maybe I just dreamed I did," Aang replies, closing the door and picking up a jug of lychee juice, kept stocked by the observant servants. "You look better, though."

"I am," Taking the proffered cup of lychee, Zuko reaches into his robes and pulls out a scroll, hastily tied with coarse brown twine and travel-stained. "This just came this morning, from one of my men patrolling the sea border to the Earth Kingdom. They caught a covert group of the Dai Lee attempting an attack on Fire Nation citizens making the trek out of the Earth Kingdom."

Aang unravelled the scroll, hands shaking slightly from tiredness, and scanned the contents. With each word, his eyebrows rose higher on his forehead, until he looked positively shocked. "This," he said, his voice pitched slightly in disbelief. "This can't be right."

"It is," Zuko replied, and his smile turned into a grin. "A massive defeat, no Fire Nation soldiers lost, and twelve captured men, to be turned into the tribune as proof of treachery!"

"No, no, not that – although that's good too, woohoo, treachery! No, I mean, this bit right here …" Aang spread the document before Zuko and pointed. "'_A great mist rose from the water, taking us by surprise, but it moved directly towards the enemy, slamming into their force almost as if directed._' That's not luck or good use of the tides, that's _waterbending_. And here, this part … _Just as the sun was coming up, and we were hauling captives into the bunker, my men swore they could see a woman on the water, head veiled and hidden, but watching us at our work._'"

"It was night, there was a mist, and they were elated from the victory," Zuko pointed out, taking a great gulp of his drink. "It could have been anything."

"But it's not the first time this strange woman has been seen, has it?" Aang persisted. He didn't know why the report filled him with such a strange feeling; it was as if his heart was hammering three times faster than usual. "There was a skirmish on the water near Do Pai, remember? And one of the captives said he had seen a woman standing on the water. Then again, at Meng Chu, someone reported a figure moving across the bay, taking out several Fire Nation deserters. This woman is cropping up everywhere."

"She could be a spirit," Zuko suggested, clearly not concerned with mysterious veiled women who walked on water. "You've encountered that kind of thing before. Who was it that guarded that little fishing village? Plastered ... no, Perfumed? Pouty Lady …"

"Painted Lady." Aang felt very cold.

"Right, exactly. As long as this Painted Lady is on our side, let her continue. We save lives this way. And she's good for morale, too." Zuko stood, draining his cup. "Men want to fight on the side the spirits will fight for. When soldiers hear we've got a friendly deity in our midst, they'll feel better about their cause. No harm in it, right?"

"Right." Aang ran his hand over the smooth skin of his head, trying to look as calm as Zuko had instructed. "But maybe it's best if I go talk to her," he added, unable to stay quiet. "You know, Avatar, bridger of worlds, talker to Spirits. Make sure everything is okay."

Zuko chuckled, shaking his head. "Do what you need to do, Aang. Hell, maybe put on a costume and go join her. Clean up this nation, one traitor at a time." He paused at the door, examining his friend fondly, still smiling. "Just don't do anything stupid."

"You know me, Sifu Hotman. I'm the smartest and safest monk you'll ever find."

Zuko laughed aloud at that, pulling the door open to take his leave. "Yeah, right! And Sokka is a vegetarian. Just be sure to come back in one piece, then. Hey, before I forget, you know you're starting to get a beard? Use it in your disguise!"

Aang rubbed along his chin, feeling the short bristles scratch the pads of his fingers. "Maybe I will. Say hello to Mai for me! I'll be back in a little while."

* * *

"Where were you last night?"

The question comes without much forewarning, as the two girls sit down to eat a quick breakfast before the day begins. Outside, the sky is a light, dusty grey, a hint of rain in the air and the threat of thunder, far off in the distance. The sea that is spread out before them looks like angry steel, churning out waves that break against the rocky shoreline. The warmth of the day does not match the appearance.

"Sleeping, same as you," Katara replies, dipping her spoon into her bowl of porridge and blowing on it to make it cooler. "Why?"

"I woke up last night and you weren't in your bed."

"I had to go to the bathroom."

"For an hour? I stayed up waiting for you."

"Suki," Katara deadpans. "If this is going to end with you making an awkward pass at me, I want you to stop right there."

Despite herself, Suki laughs, and Katara takes another spoonful of porridge, stifling a yawn. It's been a week since they've left Kyoshi Island, travelling along the coast to refugee camps, offering medical attention, a safe place to rest, anything they can offer. It's a hard voyage, but the unspoken agreement is that they've both suffered worse. So they travel on.

Suki stirs a pinch of nutmeg into her porridge, and Katara knows that the subject of her disappearance last night will be broached again. Suki means well, she knows that, but Katara is a woman grown, and women grown don't need to answer for their disappearances in the middle of the night if they don't want to.

(She knows that's entirely ridiculous, but she stands by it.)

"Think we'll get a storm?" Katara asks after a few minutes, stifling another yawn with some difficulty. Suki shrugs, scraping the last of her porridge from her bowl and rising to her feet to rinse the dirty cutlery.

"We might see some rain. I'd like to be close to Yuyen before it hits, though. We can resupply and rest for a bit before I head into the capital." Suki glances over at Katara, who is determinedly looking away. "I assume you'll find your own way?"

"I always do," Katara says, and she doesn't think of the long travels on the back of a sky bison, doesn't think of the adventures that took her far from home but always brought her to those she needed, and most certainly doesn't think of the boy with grey eyes who was more her home than anywhere else.

* * *

If Aang were a man of hindsight, he would recognize when this became a very bad idea.

He leaps aside, nimble as a dancer, dodging the fragmented rocks as the boulder breaks apart on the rough stone face of the cliff Aang is turned away from. Here, there is nothing but earth and stone, a formidable setting for any man facing an Earth Bender, but Aang wasn't expecting so _many_.

The next boulder aims a little closer, and Aang only barely misses it this time. His feet scarcely touch the ground as he runs towards the dip in the rocks where the projectiles are coming from, ducking and dodging and fairly _flying_, reaching the fissure at the exact moment another boulder comes hurling up to meet him.

His fist crunches through it at the very last second, not as neatly as Toph, but effective enough. There are surprised yelps from his attackers, and Aang quickly smashes his way through the last of their defenses, hands moving deftly to bend the rock around him to his will, trapping his assailants before they can counterattack.

There are ten of them tonight, his largest haul yet, and they are as angry as a group five times their number. Their leader is an old Earth Nation colonel, but he's torn off his uniform in place of that of the rebellion. He's not the first. He probably won't be the last.

Hands trapped and rendered immobile, the Earth Benders present slightly less of a threat than they did before, but Aang still wishes for a metal cage or a hull of iron, something sturdy and strong and not made of earth. He's going to have a hard enough time hauling them to the harbour, where a passing fleet will be able to find and arrest them; he doesn't fancy beating them into submission again.

The mask on his face is chafing the bridge of his nose, and Aang tugs on the material, wishing he had something as ominous and mysterious as Zuko's old Blue Spirit disguise. All he had was his Fire Nation headband and an old cloak, too small for use, and he didn't fancy running around with the insignia of the Earth Kingdom's oldest enemy on his forehead: he might as well have tattooed "ATTACK THIS GUY HERE" across his chest. In the end, he had dyed the headband blue, to cover the stitching, and cut out two small eyeholes, using the cloak and an old pair of Sokka's gloves to cover his arrow tattoos. To complete the ensemble, he had fastened a cape to his getup, which meant for flourishing exits and entrances, but also prolonged fight scenes, because the damn thing kept getting caught in something.

It's something of a relief, if he's honest with himself. By day, Aang in the inept and useless Avatar, powerless and embroiled in a thousand arguments that go nowhere. By night, he is a man with no identity, a man of action, taking care of a mess the Avatar cannot. No one spits his name or curses his nation when he has a cloak on, no one threatens or insults his family and friends. He is no one and he can be anything, and it's a freedom he relishes, perhaps more than he should.

"Hey! Useless! You just going to leave us here?!"

Of course, people still yell and shout, but they don't yell and shout his _name_.

Turning his attention back to the problem at hand, Aang sighs. There is just no way he will be able to drag ten grown Earth Benders through the rocky terrain to the waterfront. He could use Air Bending, perhaps, but that would be too risky: he has taken care to engage in this fight only with Earth Bending, lest his identity be discovered.

"Useless! Yeah, I'm talking to you, shorty, stop ignoring me!"

He could light a beacon fire, Aang thinks, pacing back and forth, his cloak swishing around his ankles. Light the biggest fire he can, so that it attracted the Water Tribesmen who were patrolling the seas. That ran the risk, however, of someone else seeing the fire, and coming first.

"You got a name, idiot, or do you want us to keep calling you useless?"

Aang stops short. He has the cloak, the gloves, the disguise, and he _never thought of a name_. "Uh …"

"Uh?" The thin guy nearest the fissure Aang has just wrenched them from seems to be doing most of the talking. "You want us to call you _Uh_? What a dumbass!"

"No!" Aang replies, stung. "That's not my name! My name is … my name is …"

Blue Spirit? No, Zuko already claimed that one. Blind Bandit? No, that one didn't fit. Painted Lady? He wasn't a lady!

"My name," Aang intones impressively, after a minute of frantic thinking. "Is _Mr. Mysterious!"_

The men's reaction isn't quite what he was hoping for.

"Mr. _Mysterious?!_" The chatty one nearly howls. "_Seriously_?! That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard in my life!"

"Hey!" Aang's voice is trembling dangerously on a whine. "Come on, I worked really hard on that name!" No one is listening to him now. Thoroughly displeased, he intends to start the fire, and to hell with whoever finds them first, when something gives him pause.

A mist, moving slowly across the rocks and arid desert sand, is heading quickly and quietly in the direction of the harbor.

Aang does it without really thinking, like his legs and his arms and his heart are all completely on autopilot. One minute, he is standing, watching this mist; the next, he is running after it, and the wind itself will never be as fleet of foot as he is now.

For a moment, there is silence. Then,

"… Is he just going to leave us here?"

* * *

She moves surely, silently, unconcerned over being detected – who would be looking for her this far out? – but quickly, determined to reach her destination sooner rather than later. The moon is just a sliver of white in the dark night sky, but its power courses through her veins, makes her mist soft and cool, even if the air is warm and humid. Tonight, she is untouchable.

A hand blooms out of the darkness and grabs a hold of her cloak, nearly ripping it off her, and she spins, a little clumsily, away from her assailant, hands up in a defensive gesture, ready to strike.

The man before her is cloaked and hidden, just like her, but there is something unbelievably familiar about the broad expanse of his shoulders, the smooth, hard leanness to him. If he were to remove his costume, she'd wager he would be a very handsome man.

"Out for a walk?" The man asks, his voice pitched low and gruff, and she supposes it's to sound intimidating, but it fails. Her mouth twitches as she fights back laughter.

"Mortal men who interfere in the works of spirits always regret their curiosity," she says instead, using the voice she has spent hours perfecting: soft, mystical, the trace hint of an accent that should throw people off her scent.

"Good thing I'm not a mortal man." Her stranger shrugs, and she can see a little smile on his mouth, the only exposed part of his face. There is a dark shadow on his well-chiselled jaw, the beginnings of a beard, and the mouth itself has lines in the corners, like it is in the habit of frequently quirking into a smile.

"You're human like all the rest."

"And you're not?" The question is a touch more aggressive than his previous one, and the stranger is looking at her intently. Too intently. It makes her feel squirmy and exposed, and _she's_ the one supposed to be in power.

"I do the spirit's work. Isn't that enough?" She shrugs, herself, and the soft folds of her gown slip down one shoulder. She can see the man's gaze slip with it, and then he _swallows_, and she wants to both laugh and strike him across the face.

"You call what you do _spirit's work?_" The tone of incredulity in his voice irritates her; she draws back, hands still splayed out, ready to call the water in the flask at her hip to her bidding at a moment's notice.

"I call it _justice_." She says shortly. "Now, will you let me by, or do I have to hurt you?"

"Assuming you can land a blow," the man says, and finally, her patience worn thin, temper already snapping, the woman launches forward, water bursting around her like the arms of an octopus.

He's good, she'll admit him that. He's light on his feet and he's strong, bending the water around her until it boxes her in, but she's better, she's _always_ been better, and every blow he attempts is wasted, as she strikes back. She feels strong and sure and this is _her_ element, the one thing she has always known, and no stupid, handsome stranger is going to take that from her.

_Did I just think 'handsome'?_

The man is pressing forwards, attempting to breach the wall of water she has erected around her, but she's been waiting for that: with one deft movement, she freezes the water around his hand and, knowing him good and trapped, blasts him off his feet with one great jet of water. He tumbles back, comically somersaults, and comes to rest on his back, panting with the exertion and dripping wet.

Smirking, she approaches, raising one stream of water, ready to strike again, but he is too quick for her. As she draws level with him, the man moves, impossibly fast, rolling to the side and then tackling her to the ground, pinning her with his weight.

They roll about on the dusty ground for a moment, cursing and shouting, until, in a fit of frustration, she seizes the headband hiding his face and gives it a great, hearty tug.

And then: "_Aang?!"_

"No!" Aang cries, hastily backing away, reaching for his cloak and attempting to cover his entire face with it. "Uh, I don't know this Aang you speak of! I am Mr. Mysterious, provider of ease and defender of the innocent! I am the shadow in the night! I-"

She reaches over and rips the cloak away, exposing the silvery-blue arrow on his forehead, unmistakable and familiar.

"- am the Avatar." Aang finishes weakly, cover blown.

"What are you _doing_ here?!"

"Well, I was … kind of doing what you're doing." Sheepishly, Aang rises to his feet and dusts himself off. He dwarfs his mysterious companion by nearly a foot and a half, and there are muscles where there were not muscles before, a sensuality that she has never seen … and exhaustion in those grey eyes of his, lines that she has never seen before. Aang has grown up, grown into his full handsome self, but he has aged, too, and it's clear his 100 years are weighing him down like they never have before.

"Doing what … hey! I'm the Spirit of the Wronged!" Quickly, she smoothed down her dress and rearranges her veil. "The Painted –"

"Katara," Aang says, and he sounds weary. "Give it a rest. I know it's you."

She thinks about denying it; about shooting a jet of water in his face and fleeing before he could catch her. But something in her makes her lower the veil, and rub a hand over one cheek, smearing the bright red paint. "H-how did you know it was me?"

"I'd know you anywhere." Aang says, simply, and she is finally at a loss for words.

The night sky overhead is still dark, with hours to go before the dawn. The stars scattered across the blank horizon stretch on for miles, pressing down upon the two lovers, and Katara feels like time might have stopped, the whole world might have stopped. Aang just looks at her.

"You look –" he ventures after a moment, but she shakes he head vehemently.

"Don't. Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Don't … let's not pretend that everything is fine." She wants to scream, or shake him, or run. She wants to grab Aang by his shoulders, his great broad shoulders, and bring him close to her, whether to hit him or kiss him, she isn't sure. She wants to yell until her voice is hoarse and Aang looks a fraction of how she feels, right now. She wants to curl up in his arms and never leave again. She wants a thousand, thousand things.

But growing up means accepting that you can't have everything you want, or even _anything_ you want. Growing up means taking the bitter with the sweet, and the dark with the light. Growing up means rotten cabbages for days on end, even when you beg for good. And Katara knows that she's grown from the little girl she used to be.

Aang runs one hand along the smooth skin of his head, his nervous habit, his scared habit, the gesture he makes when he is thinking hard but doesn't want it to show on his face. He used to do it a hundred times when they first started dating, holding her hand with one of his own while the other pushed back non-existent hair. Sometimes, right before they made love, he would sweep his hand over his head and Katara would grab it and kiss it, a reminder, a promise. She wonders if he's blushing now like he used to blush then.

"Why wouldn't everything be okay?" He asks, and he sounds resigned.

At this, the flood breaks.

"Because …" The urge to shake him is back, only this time she wants to do it so hard his damn head rolls off. "Because you _left!_ You ran off, just like you did a hundred years ago, and you went and joined the people who hate you, who spit on you in the streets, you _left!_"

She doesn't need torchlight to see that Aang has gone white at her words, and she knows, she _knows_ they cut, she knows because Katara knows Aang better than he knows himself, and she knows that his disappearance is the one wound that refuses to close, that it's the one taunt he will always be defenseless against. She knows it and she _uses _it and she _hates_ herself for it, but how else can he feel how she feels, when he stands there and accepts what fate wants to dole out? She wants him to shout, to move, to fight back, to grab her, she wants him to _react !_

Aang doesn't move, though. He's looking at her like he's never looked at Katara before: like he is seeing her for the first time, and finding flaws.

"I didn't want to leave," he says levelly, after a moment. "But I wasn't given much reason to stay."

"You had –"

"I had you." He cuts in, voice sharper, and it hurts her. "At least, I thought I did."

She can't let that unfairness stand. "I wanted justice," she says, voice creaking slightly in anger. "I just … I wanted –"

"I didn't kill the Fire Lord!" Aang's voice is nearer a shout, his face taut with anger. "I didn't kill him, or Zuko, I didn't kill Azula, I didn't kill the Fire Nation soldiers or the men who came after you, or Sokka, or Toph! Not because I didn't love you! Not because I didn't care! I didn't kill them because it's _wrong!_ Taking a life is no way to prove you're the better person, the stronger person, it means you're the cowardly one! You should know that by now!"

And just like that, her blood is up again. "How many do you think they killed?!" Katara shouts, fists balled, steam practically curling in the air around her. "How many people do you think they shoved into iron cages and locked up in tiny cells?! How many people like Hama rotted away in dungeons, until they died? How many soldiers do you think marched through my village, burning and pillaging? How many men have they burned and maimed and killed, because it was easy, because it was _fun? _How many women like my mother died to protect their sons and daughters?!"

"You think I didn't lose something too?!" It's a shout, it's a bellow into the night, but Katara doesn't care, she wants him to understand, to _hurt_ like she's hurting –

"You let the people who took your family away from you walk in the streets and sit in their homes, while your temples crumble into dust!" It's near a scream.

"What do you want, Katara?!" And it's the bellow that Zuko once commanded from Aang in warfare, it's the surest sign that Aang is past patience or peace of mind. "What do you want from me?!"

Katara opens her mouth for an angry retort … and is silent. She has nothing. Her mind is blank. Aang is glaring at her, glaring like she never thought he could, and she's standing before him, tight with rage and heartache, silent.

"I wanted _you_," she says, finally and her voice breaks on the word. "I want Sokka home, I want the war over. I just … want it to be over. I want the killings and the fighting to stop. I want peace."

Aang is silent, now. His muscles, she can see, are still tight with apprehension, but the anger is draining out of his face.

"You want peace," he says after a moment, and he sounds weary to the bone. "But you want me to kill men."

"I don't know." Katara shakes her head, and it feels like the whole sky is pressing into her shoulders. "I don't know anymore, Aang. I'm tired. I'm angry. Sometimes I look in the mirror and … and I don't recognize myself anymore. I want everyone to be happy, I want unity between the nations but …" She looks up into his face, meets his gaze, his tired grey eyes. "I'm not you. I can't forgive, or forget. And sometimes, I can't swallow it down any longer."

They fall silent. Somewhere, off in the distance, a cricket chirps, and if they listened closely enough, they could probably hear the sounds of waves, breaking against the distant shore. Right now, all Katara can hear is Aang's breathing, the sound of him, alive, _here_. With her, under desert sky.

"We need peace," he says, finally, and he says the word with regret. "If we tried to settle scores for the last hundred years, no one would be left. Zuko said it, the day we crowned him, remember? We need to rebuild the world with new hope, and love. And I can't rebuild if I'm out looking to sate vendettas."

She feels another spark of anger, deep in her gut, but she smothers it as best she can. "I'm not asking for every damn Firebender to be hanged," she says, emphasizing each word so Aang catches each. "Men profited from this war. People died in it. Men went into villages and burnt them to the ground. Soldiers who were supposed to protect their people charged them bullied them and _hurt _them. Farmers starved because their food was taken away. And then the Generals in the tribunal –"

"We've been over this," Aang interrupts, and he sounds angry again. "I didn't make that decision, the courts did –"

"The courts made their decisions _based on your testimony! _You heard what the men had done, Aang, why let them live?!"

"You want blood for blood, fine, but –"

"You're not listening to me!" Katara can feel her voice inch closer to a scream, and she forces it down. "Put them on trial! List out their crimes, and then _let the people decide!_ Don't just sweep in and declare death a vile thing, because sometimes … sometimes, people need to decide that for themselves."

Aang is looking at her intently, and Katara is _praying_ that he has heard her, that he's _listening_, but when he finally opens his mouth, he says, "You're angry with me. Not just about the tribunal, you've been angry for months –"

She's going to strangle him. Spirits help her, she's going to wring his little neck out.

"Of course I'm angry!" Her voice is getting hoarse from the repressed screaming. "You took me for granted, Aang, you dismiss my advice, you accuse me of being some … some blood-hungry revenge mongrel … I was your friend and your confidante before I was anything else, and you just swept me aside, and you _left_."

"I never swept you aside!" Aang sounds outraged. "I never dismissed … I told you, I couldn't listen to what you were saying, I gave you time –"

"I didn't need time!"

"I had to find a way to make peace –"

"You _left!_" She shouted, and the words tugged nearer to a scream as she pulled on his robes, daring him to hit her, to hurt her, to show a little of the turmoil boiling away inside of her. "You _left_ me!"

"You pushed me away!" He shouted back, and the grey of his eyes are stormy, the pinch of his mouth, the lips she has kissed so many times, are drawn tight, tight with anger and regret and relief and fear.

"So this is my fault?!" Katara felt like she was exploding, like every part of her could not be contained. "This is all my fault, you're sa-"

What she was saying, Aang never got the chance to know. His lips met hers in an angry, defiant gesture, and everything fell away.

Their bodies don't come together as naturally as they used to; instead, they crash, and clash, and everything is sloppy with anger and tension and the need to be _closer_, and Katara isn't sure who is the one to start it (she thinks, later, that it might have been her), but suddenly they're yanking clothes off and she nearly rips the sash around his waist in half as she struggles to undress him. She can feel herself being steered backwards, until her back hits the set of boulders that dot the landscape, the ground itself not inclined towards picnics or lovemaking. Aang lifts her off her feet, probably to seat her on the rock, but Katara wraps her legs around his waist and grinds against him, taking some sort of savage pleasure from the ragged gasps she elicits from him. _Let him suffer_, she thinks to herself, even as she resumes her frantic mission to disrobe him.

Aang is not incapacitated for long: she can feel his hand slide up her leg, smoothing over flesh and pulling her dress up, higher and higher, until she's exposed from the waist down. A desperate kind of need is awake inside her, pulling Katara forward when she knows she should draw back, and she reaches for Aang's shirt, pulled loose by her earlier attempts, and yanks it none-too-gently over his head. She was right, he _has _grown up: his torso is more solidly defined by muscle and she can feel the hard ridges of his stomach, contracting under her hand as she traces the lines. His cock presses against one thigh, hard and thick, and she reaches for it with one hand, half-delirious with anger and the rest desire, caught up in the familiar motion of loving Aang, even if she still wants to scream at him.

The earth tilts and for a moment, Katara wonders if Aang has let her go, but no – Aang will never let her fall. Instead, he lifts her onto the boulder's flatter surface (smoothing it, she suspects, with some hasty Earthbending), before his hands resume their wicked work. He's standing between her legs, and her fingers find the bare skin of his back and drag down, scraping him raw and red. She knows it hurts, it's _designed_ to hurt, but Aang takes it; his hands find the line of her panties and drags them down, and she should be embarrassed over how wet she is, but she's _not_, and she _wants him_, and everything is moving too fast and too slow, and all she can feel is a fire in her gut and Aang's mouth, kissing a path up her leg, before his tongue reaches where she's wet and waiting for him.

Her head hits the back of the rock, hard, and there's a low, keening moan that she recognizes as her own, making its way from her lips. Aang's wide hands have her pinned in place, her own scrabbling for purchase anywhere she can find, and Katara can feel her heart pounding in her chest as Aang traces her slit with his tongue, circles her clit, hard and fast, tempting her closer to her finish.

She growls, low in her throat, when Aang pulls away, and she reaches out, yanks hard on his robes to bring him close again, to kiss him, lips mashing together and teeth clinking against each other, hard and ferocious. Aang is gripping her hips with bruising intensity, rocking against her, kissing her until she can't breathe, pulling away, giving as good as he is getting, because she's scraping her nails down his back, digging them into the firm muscles of his arm, biting down on his lip and tugging, and in the back of her mind she wonders if they are fucking or fighting.

She pushes against him, hard, giving her space to sit up and resume her attack, sliding down the boulder until she is pressed flush against Aang, who is breathing hard, eyes shooting sparks; ignoring the hard ground, Katara forces him on his back, pinning him down when she straddles his waist, rocking against the erection that is pressing painfully against the restriction of his trousers. She's lost sense of this fight, she just knows that she wants to _win_ it: wants to take him, hard and fast, and leave him gasping for air and for her. With one hand, she tugs the waist of his pants down, palming the thick length of him, strokes him, makes him _groan_, before sliding down, taking him in. She's so wet and angry that there's no reason to go slow.

His hands jolt to her hips, where he holds her in place as she rides him, fingers digging into the muscles of his chest. She doesn't look at his face, but instead looks up, up into the night sky, to the millions of stars and that bright sliver of the moon, closing her eyes when Aang rocks his hips against hers, finding her rhythm as easily as breathing.

She makes the mistake of looking down just once, catching his gaze as she feels herself build up to her release. His gaze isn't angry – it's determined, it's desperate, it's _adoring_, and she hates him a little for that, too. Her nails dig into his skin, leaving little red marks, and then everything goes white, and she throws back her head and screams. Below her, Aang gives a hoarse shout, and she wonders if he'll dare to say her name.

* * *

The sun isn't fully up yet when he feels her stir next to him. Eyes closed, breathing even, he lies there, hears her get to her feet, pulling her clothes on, brushing the dirt and the rock off of herself, the evidence of last night's tryst.

He wants to reach out and hold her to him, pull her into the warmth of his chest and keep her there until she sighs, like she did last night, with his fingers pumping slowly into her, his thumb pressed against her clit. They made love a half-dozen times before they fell asleep, each one a little less angry than the last. Her lips had been soft, wrapped around his cock, and he can still see her eyes rolling back in pleasure, as he kneaded one soft breast as he laved attention on the other. He wishes it had never ended. He wishes the night had stretched on for days.

There's the sound of footsteps, and he realizes, in a fit of panic – _she's leaving_. Aang sits upright, hoping that he's wrong, but no, Katara is already walking off, back towards the harbour. She's _leaving_.

"Don't!" It bursts out of him, echoes around the rocky landscape. He watches her pause, turn on her heel. He can't see her eyes because she's got that stupid veil on. "Don't go."

She doesn't say anything, and she doesn't move. He stands, wincing slightly as the exertion of last night makes itself apparent. "Don't go." He says again, when he's walked closer. "Please."

"I have to go." Compared to him, Katara looks listless and unfeeling, a beautiful spirit carved out of stone.

"Katara –"

"Last night was a mistake."

It hits him like a punch to the gut, harder than anything Toph could deal. Head spinning, all he can do is look at Katara, hoping against hope she'll laugh, she's come to him, something, _anything –_

"Last night –" he starts, but Katara shakes her head.

"Nothing's changed, Aang. We're still … we're still different. And that used to work for us, but now …" She hesitates, shakes her head again. "I don't feel like we're two sides of the same coin, I feel like we're two different coins. We're spent on different things. You're the Avatar, Aang. I'm not. I'm just a Water Tribe peasant, and I want vengeance and justice and a million different things. You don't need me."

"I _do_ need you!" He nearly shouts it. "I need you with me, every day! Was last night nothing, then? Are we nothing?"

She's silent for so long that he starts to feel a glimmer of hope. But then she shakes her head again, slowly, and he knows it's hopeless.

"Yes," she says simply. "Last night was nothing."

And she turns, walking away at last.

* * *

The map spread out before him is a clumsy mess of drawings and sketches, flags planted haphazardly into the parchment to indicate troop positions and uprisings. Outside, the sun is starting to rise, but the man doesn't notice. He is fast asleep in his chair, a small line of drool marring the lines he so painstakingly painted.

A loud knocking at the door rouses him, and for a moment, he is just a mess of flailing limbs and confused shouts, but the door bangs open, Zuko bursts in, and Sokka remembers where he is and what he was doing.

"He's back!" Zuko is saying, giving Sokka a little shake to fully rouse him. "C'mon, Sokka, you wanted to know the second he came in –"

"Who's back?" Sokka demands, still half-asleep. "I _told_ Smellerbee it wasn't a real bet, I'm not giving three silver for –"

"_Aang's _back, you idiot!" Zuko gives him another shake. "He just arrived this morning, and you wanted to tell him your idea, remember?"

"Oh!" All traces of sleep vanish from Sokka's face, and he jumps to his feet, scooping the papers and maps on his desk into his arms. "Right! Where is he?"

"I'm here," comes a weary voice from the door.

Both Sokka and Zuko jump, papers cascading to their feet, but either hardly notices. Aang looks terrible: there are fresh lines in his face, bruises and scratches on his arms, and he's covered in dust and dirt, clothes in wild disarray.

"Aang!" Seeing his friend in such a state has drained the excitement from the room. "Spirits, buddy, what happened to you?"

"Long night." Aang slides into the room, ignoring the mess and the concerned looks his friends are giving him, and slumps into a chair. "Zuko said you had important news to tell me. What was it?"

"I …" He considers, briefly, letting Aang rest, letting Aang sleep away whatever has him looking so awful, but Zuko nods, and Sokka picks up another map. "I had … well, I had an idea. On how to fix the refugee movement."

Aang nods for Sokka to continue. It's not much, but it will have to do.

"Right," Sokka begins, warming up to his speech. "Look. The fighting stems from one thing, doesn't it? The Fire Nationalists in the Earth Kingdom. They don't want to leave, and the Earth Kingdom doesn't want them to stay. They clash, fighting breaks out, and it spreads."

"We all know this already, Sokka," Aang says wearily.

"I know, but hear me out. Both Nations have a right to the land: the Earth Kingdom, because it's their territory, and the Fire Nationalists, because they've lived the land for a hundred years. But what if it was _both?_"

Aang frowns, but it's more a confused look.

"Look, here, I made a map … see, this space of land?"

"It's Yue Dow." Aang peers at the little doodles off to the side. "Is that … are you and Suki making out on top of _Appa_?"

Sokka hastily covers up the drawing. "Not important! No, look at this. Yue Dow is placed almost directly between Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom boundary. It's situated in the middle of the oceanic crossing between North and South Pole. It's almost directly in the middle of the map." Sokka gives the map a little shake. "Aang, you said it yourself, the Nations have been divided too long. They've all got boundaries and lines. What we need is a place that can _combine_ all those elements, a place where any bender … hell, any _non_-bender can go! A place that could be a … a _republic_, what have you, where the different Nations can come together, discuss grievances, while each Nation still remains independent and unique!"

Aang doesn't look weary, now. He looks bright and animated for the first time in days, and he's staring at the map like it's his lost child. "A unification. A seat of nations."

"The people can elect a representative for each Nation," Zuko says, his own face as bright as Aang's. "The ambassador speaks for the elected leader of the Nation, and for the people themselves. Don't' you see? We've been going at this the wrong way. The only way to restore power is to give _away_ the power, back to the people!"

"Yes!" Ecstatic, Aang leapt to his feet. "Sokka, you're a genius! The people will have their own voice heard, a place where everyone is free to live and work, a combination of everything each Nation has to offer!"

Grinning, Sokka grabbed a pitcher of wine, pouring three great cups and dispensing them between the three of them. "I propose a toast!" He raised his glass high. "To … _SOKKA CITY!"_

"… Sokka. No."

"What, I don't get to name it after myself?"

"The name comes later," Aang said firmly, lifting his own glass. "After we convinced the other Nations, and clear the site for construction. Right now … _to peace!"_

"For peace!"


End file.
